


Respect for his betters

by sternflammenden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Desk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 15:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternflammenden/pseuds/sternflammenden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>asoiafkinkmeme fill. </p><p>Sequel to Quid pro Quo.  Tywin demonstrates his authority to Lord Bolton. </p><p>Pure crackfic, but that's the magic of Boltwin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respect for his betters

There was a knock at the door. With a sigh, Tywin rose from his desk and cracked it, peering into the darkness to find Lord Bolton. A slight sense of unease filled him. He’d hoped to have seen the last of that man, but here he was again, staring at him insinuatingly with those odd eyes, a mockingly courteous smile on his pale face. 

“My Lord,” Bolton whispered, “I do apologize for disturbing you again, but just this evening, I have received a raven from my son.”

“And why should your son concern me?” Tywin turned to close the door, but Bolton blocked it with his foot. 

“It seems that he is newly married.” A thin smile crossed his lips. “He has taken the widow of Hornwood to wife, by force it seems.”

Tywin frowned. He was not pleased by the news. He’d hoped to keep Bolton and his bastard in check, and it seemed as though the man had little control over his son’s exploits. Or he was giving orders behind Tywin’s back, amassing land and men while Lannister resources were spent waging war in the south. Tywin suspected the latter. “Come in, then,” he answered, his voice harsh, and Bolton eased the door shut behind him, barring it. He stood expectantly beside Tywin, seeming to want some response, when the other man turned, his face thunderous. 

“I have no idea what you’re expecting me to do, Lord Bolton. I warned you about that son of yours, and if he compromises you, I cannot be responsible for the consequences.”

Bolton nodded. “As you say, my lord. I merely thought to ask your advice. You are so skilled with handling these sorts of matters, and were I not already occupied here, I would take him in hand myself.” 

Tywin thought of the damage done, Bolton’s amusement at the matter, and his annoyance bubbled into rage. Despite his attempts to keep the upper hand and remain calm, he let out his breath and slammed a fist on the desk, causing its contents to spill onto the floor with the force of the blow. He was further disturbed to feel Bolton’s hand on his shoulder, such a light, discomfiting touch, and to feel him so uncomfortably, improperly close. 

“My Lord, a good leeching would calm your blood,” he said softly, a slight smile on his face. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance. I have found it to be a most beneficial practice.” 

Tywin knew that he was attempting to ingratiate himself again, and he was determined not to allow it. But the day had been a long one, with bad news from the front, and now this tiresome man and his bizarre ways, intruding upon the one chance that he had to rest. He wrenched Bolton’s hand from his shoulder, thinking again of how pleasant it would be to put him in his place, to send him north with his tail between his legs. Although he had a use for him, one of the Freys would do just as well. Thrusting a sword did not require much save good aim. 

“My Lord, have I offended you?” Bolton’s voice was maddeningly soft, and he appeared to be smirking. Tywin did not allow himself to be made a fool of, and the fact that he was the object of this small lord’s amusement was almost more than he could bear. Bolton stretched out his hand. “I have meant no offense; I merely wanted to keep you informed.” 

Tywin took his hand, wrenching it in an iron grip, noting with pleasure the detached surprise on Bolton’s face, and the tension lines that appeared when it became painful.

“You’d do best to take care, Lord Bolton,” he said through clenched teeth. “You insinuate yourself where you do not belong. You go too far.” 

Bolton smiled then. “No further than you, my lord. It is your hand on mine, you see.” 

Tywin wrenched his hand away, shoving Bolton against the desk. He took no note of the other man’s face, still amused at the situation, and grasped his waist, fumbling with his clothing, his rage making his fingers clumsy. “It is time,” he said, his voice like ice, in the other man’s ear, “that you learned proper respect. Proper submission to your betters.” Bolton was silent, allowing Tywin to turn him, yielding to his touch, bracing himself against the desk. 

“Whatever his Lordship wishes,” he whispered, although Tywin did not hear him as he thrust into him, venting his annoyance and frustration, knowing that what he did could ruin him if it left the room. He trusted his instincts that Roose Bolton was not the sort of man to brag about such attentions. After all, the north was harsh and men were harsher, and would likely not be sympathetic to the thought of their commander having been turned over a desk and made Tywin Lannister’s whore. 

Tywin took a grim pleasure in his actions, digging his hands into Bolton’s body, feeling the muscles in his shoulders twitch as iron fingers clamped down on them, spending himself, and allowing the tension in his body to wash away, and when at last he finally came, he shoved Bolton, watching his hands slide across the wood, sprawling him on the desk. He noticed that the other man had not reacted much beyond allowing things to progress, and his face was barely flushed and his breathing steady and even. As he dressed himself, repairing the mess that Tywin had made of his careful wardrobe, he permitted him a slight laugh, standing before his lord, taking in the drop of sweat trailing down Tywin’s cheek, his disarray, his heaving breath. 

Neither of them said a word. They merely stood, facing each other, neither daring to break their gaze, neither moving. 

Bolton broke the silence. “Proper submission to his betters,” he said softly, inclining his head slightly. “Thank you, my lord.” He looked as though he would laugh. 

Tywin said nothing. He could only stare balefully, wishing that he’d never allowed his composure to break.


End file.
